


I Don’t Want the House

by JosephineStone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grimmauld Place, Interior Decorating, M/M, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/pseuds/JosephineStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The clichés above describe it pretty well. Malfoy is with Harry at Grimmauld Place for protection the summer after Sirius’ died and is redecoration it while staying there. This is the morning/day after they have sex for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don’t Want the House

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out way sappier than I intended it. (Late summer; they are sixteen here.)

**Written for:[](http://hd-cliche.livejournal.com/profile)[ **hd_cliche**](http://hd-cliche.livejournal.com/)**  
 **Beta:** [](http://gracerene.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://gracerene.livejournal.com/)**gracerene**  
 **Cliche:** Morning after, Draco at Grimmauld for protection, decorating Grimmauld  
 **Word Count/Art Medium:** 2, 613  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Warning(s) (Highlight to view):** *None that I can think of.*  
 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

 

#

 

The sound of paper ripping from the walls of the living room made the silence between them even more awkward than during their uncomfortable breakfast. Harry had watched Malfoy’s hands—the way they held his cup of tea, the way they held his napkin as he wiped his mouth, and the way they tapped random patterns on the table whilst he read the newspaper—he watched his face—the way his expression never changed, never indicated whether he enjoyed what he ate or was irritated at the news—but mostly, he’d watched Malfoy’s eyes, which never looked his way.

Once they entered the living room, Harry tried to follow Malfoy’s lead and not look at him every few minutes. He failed. The clock chimed, informing them it was nine o’clock, and Harry’s stomach jumped at the thought of the Weasleys arriving before they had a chance to talk. Malfoy’s spells grew more aggressive against Grimmauld place’s walls; Harry’s became feeble.

Harry cleared his throat. He waited, but Malfoy continued as though he didn’t hear him, so Harry said, ‘Mrs Weasley said she’d bring everyone over to help after breakfast.’ Mrs Weasley hated the thought of them alone together in _that draughty, old house_ without anyone to look after them. She meant well, but Harry took care of himself for years without anyone’s help before he found out about magic. It had turned from something he found sweet and endearing, something that made him feel loved, into something he found annoying and grated on his nerves.

Malfoy huffed, but said nothing.

‘So—’ Harry tried to ask a question, but had no idea where to start. He was shite at relationships. He never knew what was expected of him, but this one—this one never should have started. A _relationship_ with Malfoy would make dating a girl after her boyfriend died seem like—well, Harry wasn’t good with metaphors, but it would be a lot easier. Harry looked up and found Malfoy had stopped tearing the wallpaper down and stood facing him with his arms crossed waiting. ‘We should...probably talk.’ Harry was then the one who couldn’t look at Malfoy. ‘About last night.’

‘And?’

Good question. How did one say _please, don’t tell anyone_ without sounding like areshole? ‘It’s probably not a good idea to let anyone—’

Malfoy rolled his eyes, turned back to his work, and said, ‘Wasn’t planning on it.’ His next spell ripped through the wall instead of the paper. He jumped back as debris fell in front of him. Harry was by his side in the next second pulling him back farther and keeping him from falling.

‘Are you all right?’

He jerked his arm away from Harry. ‘You think _I’d_ want anyone to know? And if I did for some unfathomable reason want to talk to someone about _this_ —’ He gestured between them, then backed away from Harry as a sneer crossed his face. ‘Even if I did, none of _them_ would be options.’ Malfoy let his expression fall back into its usual blank mask, and spelled the wall to put itself back together. They watched it—a few feet apart, but miles away from touching—as the pieces flew in the air and arranged themselves coming together until all the cracks were gone. Then the Floo flared and he heard Mrs Weasley’s voice behind him.

‘Harry, dear, did you eat well for breakfast?’

He rolled his eyes, and he didn’t have to see Malfoy to know he did as well, before he turned around smiling and gave Mrs Weasley a hug. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

 

#

 

They took a break for lunch earlier than Harry felt was necessary. Mrs Weasley herded them into the kitchen. The long kitchen table had a fourth of it covered with miniature furniture that was shrunk from the rooms they had emptied. Malfoy said it was no use doing one room at a time. Since it was only the two of them there, it saved time to gut it and start fresh. Get all the dirt out before they brought anything new in.

Harry didn’t argue that point. The less liveable space they had the less people would be around to bother them.

Mrs Weasley pushed Harry toward a seat. ‘With all this work you’re doing you must eat.’ She started to serve him, but he took the spoon out of her hand and placed half of the amount from it on his plate. Her mouth became a thin line, but she didn’t press the issue more than that. After a few bites, he looked up to watch everyone around him.

Harry couldn’t eat; he couldn’t sit next to Mrs Weasley nor across from Ron and Hermione with the thought _I came inside Malfoy last night_ dancing through his head.

He pushed his plate away and walked out of the kitchen as it went silent behind him.

Mrs Weasley must have felt unwelcome for right after lunch she gathered her family and said they should leave the rest to Harry and—then cut off. They all knew Malfoy was making most of the decisions—Harry saw it as more of Malfoy’s project than his own—and they’d agreed to let it go, though Harry could tell they still complained about it when he wasn’t around.

They didn’t understand him.

Rather they didn’t understand what was going on between Harry and Malfoy. They blamed everything—Harry’s moods, lack of appetite, and friendship with Malfoy—on Sirius’ death. He heard Fred mention their relation and George ponder if they shared any family traits. Draco sort of had Sirius’ nose, but no that was beside the point; Harry never thought about Sirius when he was with Malfoy.

Hermione seemed to be catching on and the thought terrified Harry.

  
#

‘You know nothing about decor—’

‘It’s my house!’ Harry knew it was the wrong thing to say. They’d avoided the topic of how Malfoy’s family home came into Harry’s possession. Nonetheless it _was_ Harry’s house; the place he planned on living after Hogwarts; the place he’d make his home. He wanted a comfortable, warm, inviting home.

‘I will not live in a depressing dark hole, because you want to mope about your dead relatives.’

This should have angered him. Harry tried to be angry. ‘How long do you plan on living here?’

‘What?’ Malfoy’s anger dissipated and turned into fear while the threat lingered. Harry would never kick him out, but Malfoy didn’t know that; he didn’t know Harry well; he didn’t know him at all.

Harry had been at Grimmauld Place for the summer a mere week before Snape showed up with Malfoy. Malfoy’s mother came to Snape for help to hide her son after Voldemort marked him and gave him an impossible task to punish Lucius for his mistakes. She also went into hiding, but Snape said it was safer for both of them if they hid in separate locations.

The Order was torn on whether or not to allow him to stay, as they still met there often. There were members in and out leaving messages and having meetings, but Harry was the only one who lived there. What if he was a spy? What if he ran away? What if he tried to kill Harry in his sleep? It had never occurred to them to ask: what if he tried to _kiss_ Harry? Or the better question of: What if Harry tired to kiss _him_? Harry decided for them. It was the first—and only—decision they allowed him to make. It was his house; they really didn’t have a say.

Harry was the one to suggest they break their silence with some hard liquor the day after he arrived. The one who brought it out night after night. The one to kiss Malfoy. The one who said, ‘We should take this up stairs.’

‘You can stay as long as you like’, Harry said, when Malfoy still remained silent, he added, ‘Even once the war is over, if you ha—want to.’

Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed as a smirk crossed his face. ‘Why, Potter, what would they _say_?’

‘No one has to know. It wouldn’t have to mean anything, if you stayed. We don’t know how long the war will last—it would be just like now and no one would think anything of it because we’d have been living together for so long and it isn’t unreasonable that we’d become friends by that point, if you—or if—’ Harry couldn’t bring himself to say “switched sides” as he was fairly certain Malfoy had no intentions of doing anything other than decorating Grimmauld Place until the war ended.

Malfoy was the one who worried about Harry’s drinking and started hiding the bottles, then told, no ordered, Kreacher not to let Harry have anymore. The one who let his arm brush against Harry’s and who didn’t pull his leg away when their knees touched. The one who said, ‘If that’s what you want.’

His hand was on Harry’s arm stopping his rambling.

‘They _will_ think something of it.’

Harry felt Malfoy’s hand begin to shake as they held each other’s gaze. He was going to kiss him; Harry was sure—and then Harry would’ve kissed him, pull him to the floor, and they’d have recreated the previous night—had Snape not came through the Floo at that moment.

 

#

 

Snape never stayed long. Just checked they had everything they needed and weren’t about to kill each other, then left. Without knowing it, he agreed with Harry on the colours for the house. Malfoy huffed and whined and ran upstairs to make sure all the rooms were empty and the walls cleared. The good thing about wall paper was that even with the sticking charms everything—including Mrs Black’s portrait—came down with it. Had that not worked, Malfoy was prepared to take down the walls. Mrs Black’s portrait was _finally_ down; so was everything in Sirius’ room.

Down, but not gone. Harry didn’t say a thing, but Malfoy _never_ threw things away. Everything, even the wall paper, was in the attic. Shrunk to fit in one small trunk, but there. Harry didn’t have words to describe how grateful he was for that.

He came into the kitchen and watched as Malfoy sat grouping, regrouping and transfiguring all the furniture. Harry couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself, though earlier Snape had said he was: Snape could tell he enjoyed fixing up the place, even if no one agreed on his style choices. Harry tried not to let it bother him that Snape knew Malfoy better than he did. They had got on for years and it was a different type of relationship. Harry and Malfoy had only made peace a few weeks prior.

Malfoy took the wood tones from a blond to a dark walnut.

Harry pointed to the guest bedroom #4 furniture and said, ‘I like that.’

‘Of course you do; it’s dark.’ The furniture turned white.

‘I don’t like everything dark. I just like dark wood.’

‘With wine-coloured drapes to block out all the light, as well as on the floor and the bed. It would look hideous. Well, as much as anyone could see it without any light.’

‘How do you deal with living in the dungeons if you hate the dark so much?’

‘I do not _live_ in the dungeons; I _sleep_ in the dungeons; I live at Hogwarts. Do you live in Gryffindor Tower?’ When Harry said nothing, Malfoy continued, ‘When you referred to school as home the other day, you said “Hogwarts is my home” not Gryffindor Tower. Maybe you were right and no one would think anything of us “living together”. We’ve been living together for years after all.’

‘Why do you have to be like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Making fun of me all of the time?’

‘I don’t know, maybe, for the same reason you have to judge me all the time.’

‘I’m not judging you.’

‘You’re always judging me; always looking for ways to make me out to be so different than you and every time you find a difference you make it out to be the worst thing a person could possibly be.’

Harry took a deep breath then sighed as he sat down next to Malfoy and let his forehead fall onto Malfoy’s shoulder. ‘I thought we moved past this—’

‘So did I.’ Malfoy sat very still, but didn’t push Harry away. Half a minute later, Harry pressed a kiss against Malfoy’s collar. Malfoy still didn’t move, but said, ‘I thought you wanted to pretend nothing happened?’ Harry pulled back confused as Malfoy said, ‘I woke up and you’d gone. I woke up _alone_ and then you wouldn’t even speak to me when I came down to breakfast. Then the first thing you finally did say to me, _hours later_ was—’

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were mad at me; I didn’t know what to say. I—I just didn’t want anyone to find out yet and... I didn’t know how you felt about it. I thought you were mad that it happened and blamed me—I blamed me—and that you’d tell them to start a fight.’

‘Merlin, you know nothing about me.’

‘I’ve been realising that today; how little we know about each other.’

 

  
#

 

‘What if you die?’

Harry’s heart sped up—would Malfoy miss him? ‘Then I die.’

‘Could I still live here?’

‘That’s what you’re worried about?’

Malfoy snickered. ‘I’m not worried about having someplace to go; my parents own a lot of land and multiple houses. I was merely curious about your answer. It doesn’t matter what you say; no one would believe me.’

‘I could put it in my will: Draco Malfoy is allowed to live at my house on Grimmauld Place until he dies.’

The groups of furniture are now almost all assigned rooms. Malfoy still changed the patterns and colours as new inspiration hit him, but he decided which rooms they’d be placed. Everything was mixed up from where it was before, but Harry liked what Malfoy did with it all.

‘You have a will?’

‘No.’ Harry let his knee fall against Malfoy’s. ‘I probably should.’

‘Do you think you will die?’

‘I should be prepared either way; I mean I am mentally. I’ve dealt with that, thought about it, made peace with it. But I have a lot of money I should leave to someone.’

‘I used to wish I die.’

‘Wh—’

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he said, ‘Why do you think? I’m the only heir. My parents expect children. I hate disappointing them and after I met you it seemed to be the only thing I could do. If you weren’t beating me then Granger was and I became a massive disappointment. How could I add something else, a major something else, on top of that?’

Harry tucked a strand of loose hair behind Malfoy’s ear then traced Malfoy’s jaw with his thumb. Malfoy brushed him off.

‘Merlin, don’t look at me like that. _I’ve dealt with it. I’ve thought about it and made peace with it._ It just doesn’t make the next steps any easier.’

‘If I leave the house to you and you come out as gay, it would be pretty obvious why, huh?’

‘I don’t want the house.’

‘It’s already yours.’

Then Harry kissed him, before he could say anymore.


End file.
